


The Date

by batty4u



Series: An Idiot's Guide to a Higher Education [5]
Category: The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batty4u/pseuds/batty4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was dating a student with a slight drinking problem, very low self confidence and somewhat self-destructive tendencies. A student who was nine years younger than him and was probably more interested in people his own age, who went to clubs and watched shitty reality TV. Why was Bruce even bothering with this?</p>
<p>Because he was a sucker for a good smile.</p>
<p>And Clint’s smile was one of his best features.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Date

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter from Bruce's POV. 
> 
> Enjoy :3

How he had managed to get into this, Bruce didn’t even know. It probably had to do with the fact that he’d neglected to think things through and had slept with his student. However, the guilt he probably should have been feeling was absent from his current array of emotions.

Excitement- that was there.

Happiness- that too was in its rightful place.

Anxiety- always present.

Arousal- he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He was leaning towards good.

Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an actual date. He’d met one or two nice guys over the years but none of them meshed, none of them cared enough. He wasn’t sure Clint would care, he was young, reckless, a college student for shits sake.

Bruce what were you thinking, this is a horrible idea, it’s going to blow up in your face and you’ll just be alone again.

He shook himself and returned his focus to the salad he was making. Now was not the time for doubt. He would talk to Clint about it over dinner. If Clint wanted to end it, they ended it. If not, then they would move forward much more slowly. Much more. Though that was probably going to be harder than he planned, given Clint’s impatient personality and his inability to say no to certain people.

Oh lord he was dating a student.

HIS student.

He was dating a student with a slight drinking problem, very low self confidence and somewhat self-destructive tendencies. A student who was nine years younger than him and was probably more interested in people his own age, who went to clubs and watched shitty reality TV. Why was Bruce even bothering with this?

Because he was a sucker for a good smile.

And Clint’s smile was one of his best features.

On the first day, when he’d first seen Clint, Bruce had had trouble talking to him, because on the first day, everyone tries to be all smiles to make a good impression. And with Clint smiling at him, his brain had gone fuzzy. It shouldn’t have, he had plenty of students who had nice smiles. But with Clint it was just a detail that lead to everything else Bruce had started to, dare he say it, love about him.

A month.

That was how long it had taken before Bruce accepted the fact he was attracted to his student.

It was all downhill after that.

But, for the most part, he had no regrets. He only wished they might have gone a bit slower. The sex had been, well, it had been fantastic. But the last thing he wanted was for it to be just sex.

The buzzer sounded from the door.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Bruce wiped his hands and went to the callbox, hitting the button for the front door. Dinner was almost ready, almost, but he had miscalculated how long the bread would take to bake completely, which had set back the-

Good lord he sounded like one of those housewives from the fifties.

He took a deep breath and threw the rest of the salad together, setting it on the table. He checked his clothes in the hall mirror, his burgundy shirt freshly pressed, newly bought jeans well fitted.

He was acting like a high schooler again.

Over his student.

There was a knocking at the door and all of Bruce’s worries had to be shoved down deep until later. Clint didn’t need to see him so flustered. He was thirty, for fucks sake. If anyone should be all flustered, it should be Clint.

Bruce took one last deep breath and opened the door. Clint smiled and Bruce forgot everything he was about to say.

“Uh, hi,” Clint said. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. I had to take the bus and stuff. Otherwise Tony would have tried to follow me.”

“No, no, you’re fine. Dinner’s almost, uhm, ready, yeah.” Bruce stepped out of the way and motioned for Clint to come in. “Tony would have followed?”

“He’s obnoxiously curious and when I get home is going to call me every couple hours until I cave and tell him who you are.” Clint shrugged. “It’s his stupid way of showing he cares.”

And his smile. Bruce couldn’t think when he smiled.

No, stop, he was the adult here.

But the smile.

Stop it, Bruce.

“Well at least he didn’t follow you on the bus,” Bruce said. “Here, let me take that.” He tugged at Clint’s leather jacket and it slid off with ease. Bruce was surprised; Clint was dressed nicely, in a gray button down shirt and black vest. He’d half expected, half hoped that he’d come in what he wore to class, band t-shirts and ripped tight jeans, combat boots and sneakers.

“He would have, if his friend Pepper hadn’t grounded him. He’s not allowed to leave the apartment apparently.”

“Pepper Potts?”

“Yeah, she in your class?”

“Was last year. Brilliant girl. I would not want to get on her bad side.”

Clint laughed. “Tony’s always on her bad side.”

The smile. The smile. The smile.

Focus, Bruce.

Bruce hung Clint’s jacket by the door and led him to the kitchen. He could do this, it wasn’t that hard. Clint was harmless, so long as he kept his wits about him he would survive this night and maybe even get another.

“You’ve got a nice place.”

Bruce smiled as he checked on dinner. “Thank you.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I did, after college. Thought I should do it when I was young instead of waiting and then regretting not taking the opportunity when I had the chance.”

Clint made a sound of approval, somewhere from behind him. “This map show everywhere you’ve been? That’s a lot of tacks. How did you afford it?”

“I saved up everything I earned in college and back packed for most of it. You learn a lot, seeing the world from camp grounds and hostels, instead of hotels and resorts.” Bruce pulled the steaks off the stove and checked to make sure they were cooked.

“Bruce?”

“Hmm?” He turned, expecting Clint to be staring at the large map in the living room.

Clint’s hands grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. It was determined, Clint trying to make some sort of point. Bruce smiled and wound an arm around him, tugging him closer. He was a good kisser, a great kisser, made Bruce dizzy with those kisses. He let Clint slip his tongue in, toying with it, nipping at it lightly. Clint’s hands slid down, gripping Bruce’s hips. The kiss grew faster, more desperate. Clint whimpered and Bruce had to pull away.

“D-dinner,” he stammered. “dinner f-first. That was the deal.”

“No fun.”

“Deals a deal.”

Clint grumbled but he pulled away, a cool emptiness taking his place as he moved to sit. “What are we having?”

“Steak, salad, garlic bread. Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Clint asked him. “Do you have any idea how tough it is for a broke college student to get a good steak around here? Damned near impossible let me tell you.”

Bruce laughed and set a plate of food in front of him. “well good, then I hope not to disappoint.”

Focus, Bruce. You can do this. Don’t freak out.

He wasn’t freaking out.

They were just talking over a nice meal.

God he wanted to shrivel up and die, just from listening to his inner monologue.

Focus.

“Wine or beer?” He asked, opening the fridge. “You’re legal so I can open a bottle. I’ve got iced tea too, if you, uhm, want something else.”

“Uhm…” Clint blinked. “Which goes better with steak?”

“Wine, usually.”

“Okay, you’re the expert here.” Clint flashed him a smile. “You hoping to get me drunk there, Bruce?”

No, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“No, no, no. I just thought it’d be nice.” He cleared his throat and grabbed the bottle of red wine from the cabinet. “Please don’t get drunk on me.” He added. “Cause I’ll end up drunk and I’m a horrible drunk.”

Oh he shouldn’t have said that.

Clint’s smile turned devilish. “That so?”

“Clint-”

“I gotta see that.”

“No, no you don’t.”

“Oh come on.”

“No, Clint.”

Bruce winced at his teacher’s voice. He still hadn’t managed to get the hang of turning it off when he was outside the class. It tended to bother people, make them feel like he was bossing them around, belittling them.

Clint just stared, mouth slightly agape, pupils dilating.

Well, Bruce now knew one trick to turn him on.

“Sorry, I just… I don’t trust myself when I’m drunk. Too many bad experiences in college.” He grabbed two wine glasses and sat down, pouring one for Clint and then for himself.

Clint snapped out of his days. “Sorry, didn’t mean to nag.”

“It’s fine.”

Clint glanced at his glass then at Bruce. “Cheers?” he offered, holding his glass out.

Bruce smiled. “Cheers.”

The sound of the glass knocking lightly together rang around the room and the two took quick sips before starting on their food.

No prayer, not mumbled or spoken aloud. Clint wasn’t religious and hadn’t been raised in a religious home.

He was right handed, kept a napkin on his right knee. He had been taught etiquette on some level.

He had a wonderfully expressive face. Every thought he had could almost be seen on his face, or so Bruce assumed. He watched as Clint’s smile would go from a confused pout to a smile to something that resembled a contented smirk.

“Good?”

“Yes!” Clint blurted in the middle of a mouthful of steak. “oh, sorry.” He swallowed and washed it down with a bit of wine. “I didn’t know you could cook so well.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Not a good choice of words, Bruce.

The devilish smirk returned. “other than cooking? Cause that sounds like something we should look into.”

“Clint-”

He sighed. “sorry. I get snarky when I get nervous. With Tony, he just snarks back. And I don’t really hang around anyone else.”

“You’re nervous?”

He nodded, eyes on his plate. “I don’t want… I don’t know…” he set down his fork. “I don’t want you thinking this is a mistake.”

Well shit, he just jumped the gun. Bruce hadn’t planned on that talk until after they’d eaten. Bruce set down his fork and rested his chin on his folded hands.

“I don’t think it’s a mistake, Clint. If I did, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“You could have just felt bad for me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“well it could be. People change their mind.” Bruce could see him fidgeting, fisting his hands in the napkin on his lap. “You could have realized this was stupid, or that I wasn’t worth it.”

“I would have told you, Clint. I don’t play games with people,” Bruce said, he took off his glasses and ran a hand through his hair.

No need to panic.

“Honestly, I thought you were going to call it off,” he said. “I did, I thought I wasn’t… I wasn’t the best option for you, if that makes sense. Part of me still thinks you should be with someone your own age.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Clint looked up at him. “I’m sick of people my own age. They’re assholes, all of them. They don’t give a shit about a person’s feelings. They use you until they get bored and move on.”

Yikes.

“Speaking from personal experience?”

Clint nodded. He sighed and rolled his head back, his eyes fixing on the ceiling. “I’m damaged goods Bruce. My last relationship messed me up and I haven’t fully recovered.” He took a deep shaky breath. “I haven’t bothered with another relationship because no one wants to deal with a person’s scars.”

A deep breath. “There, I said it. Pepper said I should and I did.”

Bruce smiled and reached across the table for Clint’s hand, taking it gently in his. He rubbed his thumb over the calloused knuckles and long fingers, coaxing a soft smile onto Clint’s face.

“I… I’m not exactly a perfect package either, Clint. I haven’t… I haven’t had a… well anything for a couple years. I have problems of my own that I thought no one would want to deal with. And I’m not expecting you too. I just…” He sighed. “I liked seeing your smile every other morning. I liked hearing you laugh and I thought that was enough. And that is enough. If you aren’t ready for something serious then that’s fine. I leave the decision to you, one damaged good to another.”

He squeezed Clint’s hand. “I just want you to be happy. I miss seeing you smile every morning.”

“And what about you?” Clint asked. “Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

Oh, well, no, not really. Bruce didn’t think he deserved it at all. But he wasn’t going to just tell him that. He was the adult here, he was the one who was supposed to be calm and collected and confident.

But no, he didn’t deserve it. He wanted it, more than anything, to have someone smile at him and to be the reason they smiled. To have that ancient bubbly warmth in his chest.

You don’t deserve it.

Focus.

You don’t.

Focus, Bruce.

“Bruce?”

Bruce blinked. Clint was frowning at him. “You ok?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You don’t deserve this.

He felt Clint’s hand slip out of his.

He’s leaving. He’s leaving. You’re losing him.

“Bruce.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” He blurted, shaking himself. Clint was standing next to him, brow furrowed tightly, his eyes scanning his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Clint-”

“I’m taking this seriously,” Clint said, cutting him off. “I’m taking this seriously and that means I want to know what’s wrong. Tell me.”

Bruce sighed. “You aren’t the only one with confidence issues.” He tried to smile. “Let’s finish eating. We can watch a movie or something after.”

Clint sighed and pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s forehead, dissolving all the venomous thoughts. “Whatever you want.”

They finished dinner, chatting about Clint’s current journalism major, his interest in criminology, Bruce’s classes, his interests, what sports they liked, films they enjoyed; everything one expected to talk about on the first date. As they talked, Bruce felt his uneasiness subside. That was a good sign. Maybe he’d make it through the night without freaking out or saying something he shouldn’t.

Clint offered to help clean up, but Bruce waved him off, telling him to go pick a movie instead. It was still early and neither of them had plans for the morning. A movie meant cuddling. They didn’t need sex right away, cuddling would be nice.

“Bathroom?”

“Down the hall first door on the left,” Bruce instructed, scrubbing the griddle he had used.”You pick a movie?”

“Not yet.”

They could watch what was on TV. No big deal.

Bruce finished cleaning and, refilling his wine, settled down on the couch. He started flipping through the channels, the bright lights from the screen reflected off the windows in the dim light. Clint joined him after a few minutes, grabbing his own glass and sitting down next to him. His face was flushed, lip swollen from him chewing on it. Bruce put an arm around him and, with a soft sound of thanks, Clint curled into him, head resting on his shoulder.

“You surprised how easy this is?” Clint asked as they channel surfed.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s usually so awkward, starting out. And here we are like we’ve been together for ages.”

Bruce laughed. “Maybe we’re just lucky.”

Clint moved his head and looked up at him, his hand tracing light patterns into Bruce’s shirt. “You think so?”

“I hope so.”

They sat there, curled together in a comfortable silence as various films and shows played out in front of them. Bruce did his best to ignore the fact that Clint’s jeans should not have been that tight or that the flush in his cheeks wasn’t going away or that he was still chewing on his lip or that his hands had snaked their way around his waist.

Lips against his neck made his brain shut off.

“Clint, I don’t-” Bruce started to say, but Clint looked up at him through his blonde, cheeks flushed red, mouth open slightly, his breaths coming in soft pants and whatever his argument against it had been, Bruce quickly forgot it.

Clint rose to his knees, kissing Bruce, nipping at his lips, his tongue forcing his way inside. One of his hands made its way to Bruce thick hair, his fingers tangling in the dark curls.

“You don’t want too?” Clint practically whined.

“That’s not fair Clint.” Bruce sighed as the blonde kissed along his neck. “I had a reason and now-”

“Sorry. I’m kind of a… well, I like sex.” Clint suckled at Bruce’s ear. “A lot. We don’t have too, if you don’t want to. If you wanted to take it slow or whatever.” The pain at the very thought was evident in his voice.

“Kiss me again.” Bruce said and Clint smiled.

So much for taking it slow.

Clint climbed off the couch and Bruce turned down the TV. He half expected Clint to drop to the floor and drag him down to meet him. Instead, when Bruce tried to get up, Clint pushed him back, making him sit while Clint started pulling off his clothes.

“My turn.”

He undid the vest and slid it off, the shirt following suit, his long fingers making quick work of the buttons. Bruce’s breath hitched as those long fingers trailed downwards, undoing the studded belt and the button on the jeans. Clint kept his eyes on Bruce as he pulled them off, kicking his pants to the side. His boxers were too small, or maybe they had been designed that way, because they hugged Clint’s thighs, his half hard erection evident in the thin cotton. He shed those slowly, letting Bruce’s eyes follow his hands as they dipped under the waistline and traced their way along his hips and pelvis, fingers toying with his cock before finally gripping the boxers and pulling them off.

“Jesus, Clint.”

He just smiled and knelt down in front of Bruce. “Making an impression,” he murmured. He started undoing Bruce’s belt, pulling open the fly of his jeans. “Hopefully a good one.”

It took all his willpower not to buck into Clint’s mouth as his lips closed around the head of his dick. Bruce groaned, his fingers gripping Clint’s hair, petting it, trying to focus on something other than the wet heat around him.

“C-Clint, oh g-god.”

Clint hummed against him, the vibrations coaxing another loud moan from him. Clint held his hips still, his mouth toying with him, not giving him enough pressure to get off, but enough teasing licks and sucks to drive him crazy.

Then it was gone, the heat left him and Bruce tried to catch his breath. But Clint was climbing on top of him, arms on either side of his head, fingers gripping the leather fabric of the couch. Bruce ran his hands down his thighs, relishing in the shiver of Clint’s muscles.

“I need Lube, Clint.”

“I’m ready,” He whined, nipping at Bruce’s neck.

“Clint.”

“I am.” He pulled two of Bruce’s fingers unto his mouth. “I am, Bruce.”

“You can’t have… In the bathroom? Just now?”

Clint nodded, a whine slipping fro his lips as he led Bruce’s fingers down his hip and between his legs. “I thought you might say no. I wanted to be r-ready.”

“Clint.”

“I’m a slut, ok? And you’re really, really hot and I like having sex with y-aah!” his rambling turned into a low moan as Bruce’ finger slipped inside.

He was ready, all warm and wet, lubed up and ready for Bruce to take him.

“Let me do that next time.” Bruce told him. “It’s for me to do.”

Oops, teacher voice. Bad time for teacher voice.

But Clint seemed to like it, the bossy, authoritative tone. Bruce made a note to try it out later.

He slipped another finger in, scissored them and curled them, watching Clint’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth biting into his lower lip, fighting back his moans.

“Clint,” Bruce murmured. “Be loud for me.”

“You said to hush.”

“Not here.” Bruce kissed along his chest. “Be loud for me, Clint.”

“Bruce,” He whined as the fingers curled into his prostate. “Bruce, come on.”

Bruce pulled his fingers away and let Clint position himself, his legs sliding up the couch as he reached for Bruce’s cock.

“Kiss me, Clint,” Bruce said, pulling Clint’s face down to his so he could pepper kisses along his jaw and nibble on his already swollen lips. He held Clint’s face still as he kissed him, his face cradling his chin, tongue fighting with his for dominance.

And then Clint was moving, bearing down on him, loud whimpers and moans ripping from his throat, hands digging into Bruce’s shoulders and he sunk down. He was tight and hot, clenching around Bruce as his body tried to relax, his legs shaking. He held as still as possible, which was a surprise considering his impatient in Bruce’s office. Maybe-

Bruce smiled. “Clint?”

“Mmmm?” He whimpered, eyes shut. He rolled his hips lightly but stayed where he was.

“Move.” Bruce ordered, using the slightest hint of his commanding tone.

Clint tightened his grip on the couch and started to move, his hips rolling, legs working as he started to ride him, moaning against Bruce’s neck. “Bruce, Bruce, oh god.”

Why had he wanted to wait? Why when Clint was shaking around him, crying his name, driving himself mad as he moved faster and faster, his rhythm become more and more desperate. He was loud. Bruce drowned himself in the sounds he made, watching the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the way the corners of his closed eyes twitched when he hit his prostate, the pulse of muscle under Bruce’ hands as his thighs worked to lift him over and over.

Bruce slid a hand to his cock, whispering soft nothings to him, encouraging him as his tried to match his haphazard rhythm. Clint wailed and arched his back as Bruce met the same rhythm as his hips, his hand pumping him closer to climax.

“Come for me, Clint.”

“N-no, no, no, not y-yet, Bruce. Please,” He begged. His knuckles were white against the leather. “Not yet, not yet.”

“How much longer do you think you can last?” Bruce asked him. He nipped at his chest, his hand never stopping it’s quick pace. “I want you to come, Clint. I want to feel you, hear you.”

Where had this side of him come from?

Clint whimpered as Bruce sped up his hand, bending backwards as he tried to matching it, the sound of slick skin on skin mixing with his rising moans and cries. Bruce began meeting him half way with his thrusts, rolling his hips, forcing loud cries from him as he hit his prostate.

“Bruce, Bruce, Bruce,” Clint whined. “Oh god.”

His body seized up, legs shaking, eyes clamped shut, mouth open in ecstasy as his orgasm ripped through him, come coating Bruce’s hand. Bruce fought back a moan as Clint clamped down around him. He let go of him and, with his other arm, pulled Clint down to the couch, climbing over him. He lifted Clint’s legs up, his body pliant under his touch.

“Look at me.”

Those gray eyes opened and Bruce slid back in. He started up a quick, rough pace, not enough to hurt him, but enough to drag out his orgasm and make him arch up into Bruce, writhing and moaning under him.

Bruce wanted to talk to him, tell him he may love him, that he wanted him to stay, never leave, wanted to see that smile every morning and every night, wanted to hear his voice, his cries of pleasure, everything all at once. But no words came to him as he climaxed, groaning low against Clint’s chest, all the tightness in his body relaxing as he let Clint’s legs drop back to the sofa and pulled out.

“So much… For taking it… Slow…” Clint breathed, smiling up at him. He pulled Bruce hand to his mouth and started liking at his fingers.

“You’re going to kill me one of these days. I just know it.”

“Nothing wrong with dying from too much sex. Happy… Happy way to go.”

Bruce groaned as Clint sucked on his fingers, lapping up the come. “Clint, don’t.” But he didn’t listen. He kept at it until Bruce’s hand was clean and he had trails of his down his chin.

“I suppose… I should probably be heading home soon?” Clint asked as Bruce grabbed for a towel to clean up with. It was getting late.

Bruce shook his head. “Stay. I mean, if you want. I can take you back to campus in the morning. You’re in no fit state to be taking the bus, anyway.”

“I can sleep out here.”

“No, you can sleep with me.”

Clint reached up for him, pulling him down into a tight embrace, ignoring the stickiness on his stomach and legs. Bruce tried to push him off enough so he could finish cleaning up, but Clint wouldn’t let go. So Bruce gathered him in his arms, Clint muttering about how strong his was, like he had the last time.

And it felt right, as stranger and ridiculous as the whole situation probably was. It felt right to Bruce, having Clint in his arms, the pleasant ache of great sex filling his body, all the tension gone from his shoulders and back, a tired smile on his face. And he would wake up to Clint in the morning, to his smile, to hands drifting across hi s chest, pulling him closer for warmth.

Bruce couldn’t have asked for more.


End file.
